


Something's Fucked With Him

by lorb



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Eye Gouging, Eye Trauma, Horror, M/M, Near Death, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 11:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15929711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorb/pseuds/lorb
Summary: Something about the trees calls to Simmons. The way they rustle in the early autumn wind. Something about it calls him toward it. Calls him to walk in with the sun setting behind him. Calls to him like some sort of song that aches deep inside him, somehow known yet unrecognizable.Grif does not like this about Simmons.





	Something's Fucked With Him

**Author's Note:**

> I finally wrote that angst prompt! The prompt was simply "horror" and I thought about it for weeks before I finally settled on a plot. Feel free to prompt me on my tumblr account or even just in the comments!
> 
> PLEASE MIND THE TAGS.

Something about the trees calls to Simmons. The way they rustle in the early autumn wind. Something about it calls him toward it. Calls him to walk in with the sun setting behind him. Calls to him like some sort of song that aches deep inside him, somehow known yet unrecognizable. 

Grif does not like this about Simmons. The way he stops mid sentence and stares into the forest that lines the Grif’s backyard. He had noticed, of course, but he figured it was something else. Maybe that Mr Simmons had been a little too drunk and a lot too angry. Maybe that the English teacher had not rounded up his grade like he had figured so practical. But he hadn’t said anything. It had been Kai who had brought it up. In the quiet morning as Grif had seen her off to school, before going to the bus stop, she had paused.

“Something’s fucked with your boyfriend, Dex.” She said over her shoulder. “Pretend whatever you want, but he’s not hanging around here anymore. He’s lost it, Dex. He finally snapped.”

And Simmons came over like he always did, and Grif pretended her words weren’t running in his head. He pretended he didn’t notice how Simmons had stopped, even as Grif had kissed at the soft skin under his collarbone, even as Grif had grasped at his belt, willfully ignoring the glass glaze that overtook him, even as Grif pulled his lips to his own. Simmons locked onto the window across the way, enraptured by the line of trees that seemed to sing and call.

_ Something’s fucked with your boyfriend, Dex. _ Grif pushed himself off, shoved far away, grunted in disappointment and frustration, but Simmons kept staring. The longer Grif sat and observed, the more fucked his boyfriend seemed. He stared with eyes like a marionette, wide and unblinking. A line of spittle dripped from his lips. Grif didn’t know whether to call to him, or to call for help.

“Simmons?” He made a decision. “Dick? Are you… there?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, what were you saying?” He snapped to, as though he weren’t half naked with his lover across the room with the countenance of a man who had seen a ghost, or the creation of one. 

“Nothing.” Grif watched as he wiped his face, looking around like this was the first time he had seen the Grif’s bedroom. “Do you want some food?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever’s fine.” Simmons’ eyes roved past the window almost too quick. It made Grif uncomfortable down to his stomach.

_ He’s lost it Dex.  _ Grif slices into some vegetables and tries not to wonder about what Simmons might be doing in the bedroom. He fails as he absentmindedly cuts into his thumb with the knife. Blood leaks out, creating beads that eek down his hand and onto the cutting board. The bedroom door slams against the frame. Simmons stands in the doorway. Grif ignores the racing of his heart.

* * *

 

Saturday night means what it always does. Kai stays with a friend. Simmons climbs into Grif’s bed, Simmons stifles his exaltation, Simmons breathes heavy into Grif’s pillows, Simmons falls asleep wrapped in Grif’s arms. 

The scratching at the trailer walls wakes Grif. He sits up slowly, distressed by the emptiness in his arms. There’s a storm outside, thunder claps. Grif looks around. Simmons is at the far wall, his face pressed against it, deeply shadowed by the night’s gloom. An animal scratches against the thin aluminum siding. Lightning illuminates the room. Simmons’ eyes are locked on Grif’s in a way that can only be described as feral.

Grif lays back down and pretends he didn’t see anything.

* * *

Kai refuses to step inside when she sees the accord in the driveway the following evening. She throws a rock at the window. She waits for Grif to come outside. She says it again.

“Your boyfriend’s fucked, Dex. He’s fucked in the head. You can pretend, Dex, but I’m leaving.” And some boy picked her up and Grif rolled his eyes as though he could forget the raving madness in Simmons’ gaze.

Grif hesitates at the door. His hand hovers over the handle. He listens inside. He tries to hear if Simmons is moving. He hears a tap… tap… tap. He forces his fist around the handle. 

“Hey ugh, Simmons?” Grif isn’t sure if he is thankful for the emptiness of the living space, or fearful for the knowledge that he must go in deeper to find what should have been his boy.  _ Tap… tap… tap.  _

Simmons is standing beside the bed, his finger raised at the window. Beyond which, there is only the darkness of the night. A slow tap emanates from the wall, working its way toward the window. 

“What is that, man?” Grif backs against the wall. He swallows the fear creeping up his throat. Simmons head rotates on his neck, too slow to be natural. His eyes lock in, his lips curl up.

“ _ The answer. _ ” Grif feels no comfort in his response. He fears looking away from Simmons, a deep feeling that even sneaking a glance away would allow him to rush at him, and those strong white teeth, so used to clamping around Grif’s neck would decide not to stop at the first sign of resistance. But the tapping has changed it’s timbre. No longer on the siding, it tap, tap taps, against the glass. 

Grif feels the sweat drip down his neck.

“ _ Look, Grif. Look and you’ll see. _ ” Simmons smiles. His teeth sharp and straight. His eyes seem to pore into Grif and see nothing at all at the same time.

Grif tries to hold onto Simmons’ gaze, but the tapping grows stronger, more insistent. 

“ _ Don’t you want to know? _ ” Simmons takes a step forward. Grif presses farther into the wall.

“ _ Don’t be afraid, Grif. _ ” Simmons closes the distance, his fingers are cold on Grif’s cheek, pressing thin and deep into his soft skin.

“Simmons, man, what’s going on?” The tapping is enough to drive anyone mad. Grif is sure to keep his eyes on what should be Simmons.

“ _ Look. _ ” Simmons’ hands push until Grif can’t fight it any longer. He looks out the window to find a face he has only ever seen in a mirror. But the eyes shine milky white against the familiar tan skin. 

“ _ Don’t scream. _ ” Grif’s own voice echoes in his head. Grif looks swiftly to the right as wrong fingers creep up his features. Simmons eyes sit unhinged in the sockets of a face perhaps a little too pale, perhaps a little less freckled, perhaps a little less Simmons. 

The fingernails are too long, Grif thinks as they come closer and closer to his own eyes. He should have noticed when they were scratching into his back. One hand prys open his left eye while the fingers position around, carefully reaching around the orb. Grif screams to curdle the blood within him as the pain lights up his body. A sickening snap and the lights flash out from his left. 

Grif rams his head forward, smashing his skull against whatever is pretending to be Simmons. It releases him. Grif pushes through the door beside him, unfortunate to find himself in the closet. He slams it shut and shoves backward to fall to the ground. Slivers of light filter in through the slats where he can see a shadow moving toward him. His hands land on something warm and wet. He braces his feet against the door. He is not alone in this closet. There is a fluttering of fingers against his side. There is commotion outside as the creature fights the door open, screaming in a sound that is fully unhuman. Blood flows from his left eye socket. Fingers feel at his back. Grif freezes.

“Grif?” Grif stops pushing against the door as he recognizes Simmons, his Simmons, as the owner of the voice beside him.

The closet door opens. Light fills the room. Grif sees the dried blood coating Simmons face. Grif sees the black holes in his face. Grif sees slim white fingers move like lightning toward him. Grif sees Simmons’ eyes in an awry face. Grif sees nothing.


End file.
